Dust and Ashes
by Satiah
Summary: Reim's the sheriff in this here town. He does his job well, keepin' order for the mayor. But then Rancher Regnard disappears, a little girl turns up dead, and a stranger begins to haunt an empty home. Guess what? They're all out for revenge. Western!AU. -Complete-
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Many huge, hug-filled thanks to _devilberry, _formerly known as _the harlequin demon_, for beta-ing the first few chapters of this silly thing for me. :) "Dust and Ashes" is a strange sort of adventure I've been scribbling on the sides to take my mind off the intensity of "Tick Tock, Enigma", but fear not if you haven't read that one - the two stories have nothing in common. Please enjoy; D&A won't be anything like what you expect. ;)

...

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

...

It was another typical morning in Nowheresville, an uneventful little place situated firmly out in the middle of...nowhere. Energetic rays from a blossoming sunrise streamed through the middle of the lazily awakening street, giving light to those hardy few up to starting their day before the rest of the sun fully crested the horizon.

As the sheriff started his morning rounds, passing by the main establishments with a wave and a nod, he checked to make sure nothing was amiss this beautiful morning. Pausing a moment to watch the Belzarius' eldest son rub at sleepy-green eyes with a grimace and a yawn, the sheriff smiled to himself and noted the way Jack blearily set up shop in his father Oscar's jovial place. (Oscar was a hard worker, but if he'd been out drinkin' again, well, that would explain why Jack was filling in for him here instead of helping out at the saloon...gracious, the sheriff was hopin' Glen would forgive the lapse.)

Speaking of Glen, the sheriff hopped up the steps leading to the saloon and pushed his way through a mess of tables and chairs toward the bar. The place was thick with smoke, as usual, but Glen was already behind the counter. He gave the sheriff a brief nod of acknowledgement, letting him know he was already aware of Jack's absence and that it was all right for him to fill in today. (Glen owned the saloon, but didn't work it; that's what his best friend was for. His was a nocturnal job, scribbling music when all was quiet and he could think. Occasionally they'd get a real treat and he'd play some on the big ol' piano in the back corner, when the whiskey was good and the mood was just right.) With a nod back, the sheriff turned and strode onwards, spurs clink-clinking as his boots thump-thumped along the long wooden porch. (Glen was a quiet sort of dangerous. Talking to him was only safe if Jack was there to intervene in the event of trouble. Most folks had learned to keep their distance.)

The livery stable was already up and running, with Fred taking his own horse out, saddled and all; it looked as if he were to be about wandering again. Goodness knew that boy had a hard time hanging around, always looking for the excitement of gunfights. But that was the Nightray way. Either fighters, roamers, or bandits, the lot of them. At least this generation seemed to be staying on the right side of the law. (A miracle, considering the fame of their parents before both of 'em hanged. Well, on second thought, perhaps the hangin' had scared the kids straight? Naw, he couldn't quite believe that. The two youngest had gleams in their eyes that he found unnerving; especially that of the youngest-youngest.)

With a tip of his hat and a gracious nod to two passing Reinsworth ladies, the sheriff called out that mayhaps they'd best wait another minute or three before buying their morning goods? Jack looked ready to tip off his feet. Miss Shelly laughed. The sheriff felt his smile brighten at the sight of her daughter's shy, rosy-pink face peering up at him. Nothing like a little lady learning how to curtsey to brighten up a morning. He made extra sure to tip his hat for her as he left the ladies to their passage and moved on to complete the rest of his circuit.

The jailhouse was his own domain, and he stopped in to release the Nightray brothers whom he'd had to lock up the previous night for brawling in the saloon. They were good boys, Claude and Ernest, but temperamental and prone to fighting when they'd had a few too many shots of whiskey. The sheriff didn't jail them because of any breech of public order, per se, but more for their own protection: they had a habit of hurting themselves more than anything else around here. That, and to keep them from getting shot by Glen, but that was another story.

With a wave and a few words to keep out of trouble, the boys were off and Sheriff Reim finally had a chance to get to that paperwork he owed the mayor by high noon.

...

Sheriff Reim Lunettes had come from a long line of righteous men of law: his pappy a sheriff, and his grand-pappy before him a judge. The rest was a myriad mix, but each member of his family tree had been an upright, standing citizen with no blemishes whatsoever on their personal records. Reim worked hard to uphold the Lunettes' tradition. So long as he had been Sheriff of Nowheresville, there'd been no trouble. And he'd been here a mighty long time.

(Although, compared to the mayor, Reim was still quite the young'un. The mayor and his wife had been caring for this town since back before the dawn of time! Or so Little Miss Sharon told everybody. And Reim wasn't one to go disputin' the word of a lady.)

Today was like any other day, with trouble running at a minimum. Nowheresville was too small a place to be bothered by bandits, too far out to be harassed by rogues. There was only one cattle rancher in these parts, too: the good Mr. Kevin Regnard, and he didn't hardly bother nobody. Only came to town every once in a while, mostly to purchase feed for the winter or to borrow the Lady Reinsworth's carts if'n he had to go anywhere to sell said cattle. (Rumor was he was awfully fond of Miss Shelly, but then again, who wasn't?) But mostly it was she visiting him instead of the other way around. Regnard especially liked to let the Little Miss play with his daughter, the Sinclair child. The one orphaned when her family was shot by brigands five years prior. (It was pure dumb luck he had been in Thenexttownover when it happened, and offered to take the infant in right then and there. Even better luck the mayor helped it happen; seemed he thought having a little extra responsibility would keep Mr. Regnard out of trouble, livin' out there on his own.)

So it wasn't unexpected when Miss Shelly dropped by the sheriff's office later that afternoon to give her report on the wellness of the Regnard Ranch. The sheriff liked to know each citizen of Nowheresville was still doing well and didn't need no extra assistance. But the look on Miss Shelly's face was one he hadn't expected to see. He immediately rose to greet her, and found her hands clutching his forearms with a grip stronger than he thought she was. There was panic in her eyes and her words came out in a frantic jumble. He tried to soothe her, calm her down, but in the end it didn't work. She stopped him in his tracks.

"Kevin," she breathed, soft and low despite her hurry; she didn't want nobody overhearing this, "is gone."

Reim stared, bewildered. "Gone, Ma'am?"

"Gone," she confirmed. "The ranch...it's empty. The bulls got loose. None in sight."

"Was it them cattle rustlers?"

"No; I don't think they got stole. I think they got _let_ loose. Everything's trampled outside."

"The gate was left open?" He couldn't believe this. He removed his glasses and rubbed them vigorously on his shirt, more out of nervous habit than any real need to see more clearly.

"Yes. And his little girl...," Miss Shelly choked on her next words.

"What?" Reim prompted urgently. "What about the Miss?"

"She's dead!" Shelly wailed, covering her sorrowful face behind muddy, once-white gloves.

Reim sat back in his chair, horrified. He felt sick. Had Kevin Regnard killed his very own daughter? No, he wasn't like that. Kevin adored that little girl, doted on her, spoiled her rotten. He'd never do anything so heinous. But who? And why? And where in blazes was Kevin now? Reim finally managed to take a deep enough breath to look the Reinsworth woman in the eye and ask, "How'd she die?"

"Shot."

"Did he...?"

"No. I don't think so. There was boot tracks out there that wasn't his. I know because when I stepped out I thought they was awfully funny lookin'. His shoes ain't that big."

Grimly, Reim stood and placed his hat on his head. Turning around, he let the Miss take his arm and said, "We ought to see the mayor. Then I'll do a thorough investigation."

"There was blood everywhere," she said quietly. Then she said no more, but covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Reim removed his glasses and cleaned them.

...

The mayor, Rufus Barma, could smell trouble brewing a mile away. But the look on his sheriff's face was something new and unexpected, brief as it was, and quite non-accusatory...but still. Further judging by the paleness of the woman clinging to the sheriff's arm, Barma would hazard a guess that something had happened to the Regnard boy. This guess was solidified in full when he saw the fury ignited anew behind his sheriff's normally warm and friendly eyes as he seated Shelly Reinsworth in a chair and cleared his throat. Barma raised an eyebrow and sat back to listen.

"Mayor Barma, sir," he began without preamble, "there's been a murder."

Barma's mind immediately analyzed the possibilities. Regnard had no outstanding debts. Never started a brawl. Settled things quickly and fairly, avoided gunfights. Didn't drink. Gave without question. Never borrowed. Kept to himself. The only cause of conflict was his possible relationship with the widowed Shelly Reinsworth. If someone else in town had had his eye on her...there may have been a pretense for altercation.

"Miss Sinclair's dead," Reim said.

Barma's eyebrow raised. "Miss Sinclair?" That didn't make sense; why would someone murder an innocent child? "Are you certain?"

"I'm just about to ride out there, sir. But I thought I'd leave Miss Shelly with you."

"Of course. I shall hear the story from her."

Reim nodded and was out the door quick as a flash. Barma's eyes slid to the shadowy corner of the room where his wife sat, calmly watching her daughter fight to remain in control of her emotions.

"Shelly," Cheryl said. "Where'd you leave Sharon?"

"With J-Jack."

"Good. Come here."

Barma sighed and left the women to their silent embrace.

...

Glen crouched, looking over the busted lock which once held some few hundred head of cattle. "Been shot out," he muttered in that quiet, half-distracted way of his which made every word seem as if it either took effort or simply wasn't meant to be heard by anyone other than himself.

Oscar sighed and eyed the empty range. "Where'd they go?" he mused aloud, scratching his head.

Glen snorted, gesturing to the multitude of tracks leading anywhere but_ inside_ the corral. "Wherever they damn well pleased."

"I don' get it. I just don' get it," Oscar said, shaking his head. "This ain't right."

"No, it ain't. But it happened and we have to deal with it," replied Shelly, her eyes hardened and heart steeled once more in that headstrong way the Reinsworth womenfolk were famous for.

Reim remained inside, sitting cross-legged by the bloody stain that had formed beneath the body of a sweet little girl. He remembered her bouncing curls, her wide, bright grin. The ribbons in her hair. The way she would laugh when she saw her daddy, the way she loved to ride horses with him. The softness in Kevin's eyes as he held her close, tucked her in, kissed her forehead while she slept. The way he showed her off, telling everyone she was the purdiest thing to have ever set foot on this earth, and nobody denied it. She was his little angel. And now she was gone.

But so was Kevin, Reim's closest friend. Gone, without a word. The girl's body had been left on the floor, and Reim only had to look at the blood to know something awful had happened to Kevin for him not to have buried her. Or at least burned the whole ranch as a funeral pyre. He'd do that for her, Reim was sure.

Reim was also sure the body of Kevin Regnard wouldn't be found too close to the house. He was a skilled gunslinger, that one, but light on his feet. He could take a fight anywhere, and probably headed out to the trees to lure danger away from his home. Away from his baby girl. There must have been two. But Reim didn't know. And didn't know how to find out. But he was damn certain the rotting corpse of his friend would be discovered sooner or later. Sooner or later, indeed.

...


	2. Chapter 2

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

...

The empty ranch had stood that way for close to seven years, by Reim's reckoning. They never did find the body of his old friend, never did solve the mystery, never did get back those damn missing heads of cattle. It was all Reim could do to keep order in the town during those few nail-biting weeks afterwards. Lynchings were demanded by every upright citizen for the murder of Regnard and his baby girl, but without proof of whodunnit, Reim was reluctant to act hastily. It was pointless to hang an innocent man, even if he was the only one who thought so.

Whether it was out of respect or fear of ghostly retribution (Reim wasn't sure which, himself; way out here in the middle of nowhere, you couldn't help but _know _strange things existed beyond the limits of normal perception. Superstitions turned into flesh-and-blood reality awful quick sometimes), the ranch had never been sold. It was never offered for, never used. In fact, _nobody_ went near it. Not even the lovely Miss Shelly. She just visited the graveyard when she was feeling lonesome.

So it was with some surprise that Sheriff Reim found himself drug outside just after twilight by an excitedly chittering pair of young boys, pointing, talking over one another, shouting demands, and generally raising a ruckus. He'd had to calm 'em down with a fair bit of warnings, but eventually they settled enough to give him an idea of the situation. And that was how he found himself here, standing on the crest of the lone hill between Nowheresville and the Regnard Ranch, flanked by the youngest members of the Nightray and Baskerville families. The boys were arguing behind him, as per their usual, ("Nobody pay them no mind no more. Them two always be fightin' over summat," he had been told once. He couldn't rightly recall by whom, but it had probably been someone's mother) while he confirmed their earlier account with his own eyes.

Sure enough, there was a light blazing in one of the ranch's windows, clear as day.

Reim frowned and spurred his horse. This didn't make a lick of sense. The boys had attested to seeing a figure earlier, but they couldn't agree to his identity. Each thought the other's brother was the cause of it. So, while Eliot professed it had been Leo's eldest brother, Glen, or maybe even the younger Fang or Doug; Leo was right sure it had been Eliot's eldest brother Fred, or maybe even Ernest or Claude.

They were _still_ bickering over it. The only thing those two agreed on was the man had worn a dark cloak, circled the ranch once, and then kicked the door wide open. After the light came on, they ran off to fetch the Sheriff. They didn't know how he got there, didn't know which direction he came from. Didn't even see a horse.

Reim left the boys as they were and cautiously edged his mount closer to the woods on the western side of the ranch, keeping well out of sight. He was trying his best to observe without being observed in return (or worse, _shot_ _for his trouble_) in the likely event they were dealing with an out-of-towner. Some of them fellers were _mean_.

After a point where the trees grew too densely for the horse to make its way quietly, the sheriff dismounted and crept closer, keeping low, eyes vigilant. Nothing seemed amiss, aside from the candle burning in yonder window, but he couldn't be too careful. He reached the shadowiest side of the outer wall and crept toward the corner, gently peering around the bend, one hand on the butt of his pistol, the other ready to push himself back if need be...

But what he didn't expect was a tap on the shoulder, and he almost died of fright. Wheeling around he hissed, _"What in _blazes_ are you two doing down here?"_ but he wasn't facing the grumbling eyes of either child. Actually, given his low crouch, he found himself staring at a pair of blue-jeaned knees patiently sitting atop white and purple riding boots, splattered high with dust. _White and purple riding boots?_

Reim pushed himself to his feet, standing at least half a head higher than the stranger. The other man didn't back down, didn't step back. His shadowy face was completely hidden. Reim didn't know who he was dealing with all the way out here, so he figured he may as well ask. Couldn't be anyone suspicious; not with the way he was tappin' on shoulders instead of shootin' out brains.

"Can I help you?" Reim asked, removing his hand from his weapon to show he meant no hostilities. Instead, he shifted his body so his badge was clearly visible despite the lack of light. (He wasn't vain about it; he just wanted to let the stranger know he was dealing with a man of authority and not some regular skulking ruffian. Stuff like this helped you not get shot by the average angry townsfolk.)

The stranger tipped his head downward like Leo Baskerville did when he wanted to peer overtop those ginormous lenses of his. Must've been a good trick, as Reim couldn't never see Leo's eyes despite the dramatic change in angle, and likewise couldn't see any here. But he did catch a bright flash of something large, sparkling, and pearly. (So the stranger had good oral hygiene: all his teeth white, missin' none. Chances were slim that he was either from here or Thenexttownover.)

The Sheriff cleared his throat, seeking to try again. "Can I help you?" he repeated a little slower, just in case the other was hard of hearing.

"No, not really," came the reply, soft and sing-songish, but not altogether _there_. The voice itself was light and playful, but somehow sinister beneath. It threw a bucket of chills up and down Reim's spine. "I was simply wondering why you were scurrying around my ranch, Mr. Sheriff. Didn't take you to be much of a _rat_."

Reim Lunettes stood straight and tall, using his best, most authoritative voice - the one he used for breaking up brawls - just less loud and directed at only one person instead of Glen's entire saloon. "Actually, it ain't your ranch, good sir. It belongs to a Mr. Kevin Regnard. You a relative of his?"

A head shook and a slender hand raised to cover the stranger's wide, mocking laugh. Reim's eyes narrowed. Something about this wasn't right...

And that's when the stranger flipped the hood of his dark cloak, revealing shocks of short, white hair so fine he knew of only one person who could possibly have so much at such a young age.

"K-Kevin," he breathed. "But you're..._no_. You're alive?"

Kevin's smile was amused as he flipped his hands beneath sleeves that Reim saw were much too long for his strong but skinny arms; he'd best remember to get Miss Shelly out here straight away to hem those up. (He was right sure both would appreciate it.)

"Oh my, I'm afraid you've gotten ahead of yourself and mistaken me for someone else, Mr. Sheriff. The name's not Regnard, if that's what you're asking. It's Break."

"Pardon?"

"Xerxes Break."

"What kind of name is that?" Reim asked. He'd never heard of anything more absurd in his life!

"Mine," answered the man who looked so much like Kevin. (Except that Kevin wore a long ponytail to one side and never brushed his bangs over his left eye. How'd this guy see where he was headed through all that hair?) "And now that I've answered a question of yours, I'd like you to be kind enough to answer one of mine in return."

Reim searched Break's face curiously, willing his mind to comprehend whatever the heck was happening here, because nothing about this encounter made any sort of sense. _Kevin never mentioned family, but if this man wasn't a twin brother, who the hell else could he be?_ Reim otherwise made no move to show the request wasn't fair, because it was, and a part of him was rather intrigued to discover what he could do to be of help to the stranger.

Break was blunt. "Would you mind removing yourself from my property?"

Startled, Reim blinked several times, unable to reply.

"You _can_ leave your horse, though," the stranger mused with one finger tapping his pale lips while his other hand pointed to the wooded area where the animal remained, standing still and strong, patiently observing the two men with big, brown eyes.

"Now wait just a minute!" Reim spluttered, trying his best to regain control of the situation. "This here ranch ain't yours and you have no authority to claim it as-"

"Of course it is and of course I do. Now get out before I shoot a hole through your foolish head."

Reim saw the man reach behind himself for what looked to be a walking cane left propped against the house. Reim also saw by the way he held it that his first impression was caused by a trick of the failing light, and it wasn't a cane at all. No, it was a custom-crafted two-barreled shotgun and this idiot meant business.

_If that's the way he wants it,_ Reim thought with a sigh. _I tried to warn him._

But before Reim could draw either of his pistols (and he was a _swift _draw, that Lunettes), the man had gone and disappeared! The shotgun was left beside the house, but lying in the shadows such as it was, it didn't look anything like a shotgun. Instead, it looked like a cane again, carved from a single branch: long and slender. (It blended into the deep and dark and dead.) There was no sign of the stranger, and when Reim backed up a few steps, he saw the light in the window had been snuffed out.

_What in blazes just happened? _Reim asked himself, looking for any remaining trace, any hint to where Break had gone. He couldn't have scaled the wall, but Reim didn't see him move anywhere else!

It was weird, way too weird. The man looked just like Regnard (and Reim knew that face well; grew up as close as brothers, they did) but it was absolutely clear that Xerxes Break _was not_ his longtime friend_._ There was something suspicious about Break's mannerisms, about the way he smiled and didn't mean it, the way he seemed dangerous even when he did nothing but talk. (Not that he really _talked_, either, but rather played and demanded and twisted his words.)

Sighing, Reim decided he'd best take a closer look at the mysterious weapon that was neither cane, gun, nor stick. But as he turned around, he found that it, too, had since gone and disappeared.

_..._


	3. Chapter 3

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

_..._

"And that's how it happened, sir."

"I see," the mayor replied, languidly stirring his tea. "And the boys...?"

"Still bickerin' where I'd left 'em." Reim sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, resisting the urge to clean his glasses. "Although this time they was fightin' over who would've won, had there actually been a duel."

Mayor Barma smiled, suddenly looking far more interested than he had for the past ten minutes in which the sheriff had diligently recounted yestereve's visit to the Regnard Ranch. "And which one decided to place his bets on you, good Sheriff?"

Reim scratched his head. "I'm not entirely certain. At first it seemed like Eliot, but somehow it got all confused and switched up and they both changed their arguments several times over."

The mayor nodded, looking as if he had expected as much. (Which, knowing him, he _had_. He just liked hearing how he was right.) Gazing out the window nearest to his desk, the mayor sat back thoughtfully, fingers fiddling with a nearby fan. "So...," he mumbled to himself (Reim tipped forward just a bit closer to hear), "that's how it is."

Straightening, Reim asked, "How what is, Mr. Mayor?"

Barma's eyes refocused on the sheriff, returning from contemplative depths. But before he could articulate his reply, the door to his office slammed open and his wife stormed in with their daughter trailing behind.

Reim removed himself from Lady Cheryl's warpath and flattened against the wall. If her words were going to burn with as much fire as she held in her eyes, he didn't want to be any nearer for fear of vaporization. (The mayor, of course, remained unfazed, quite used to this sort of thing.)

"RUFUS!" Cheryl hollered while sitting Shelly into a nearby chair. "What's this I'm hearing about a man livin' at the Ranch?"

Reim blanched. _That weren't supposed to've been made public yet. It must've been the boys. _Looking at Shelly's expectant face twisted his heart, and he felt a surge of guilt for keeping the matter secret. So, while she was preoccupied listening for her father's forthcoming answer, Reim took the chance to steal outside and quietly shut the door behind.

Having nothing better to do, he saddled his horse and set off toward the Ranch, figuring he may as well set up some sort of surveillance and see if he couldn't learn something by the time Shelly came storming out at _him_.

The town was abuzz with gossip, rumors flying every which way. It was no wonder Lady Cheryl was angry as a hornet; with the types of things the townsfolk were saying, he would've been just as mad. But rumors were rumors, and he did the only thing he could do to stop them before somebody ran out there with a posse and demanded retribution in one way or another.

He stepped into the dark saloon and was pleased to find Jack behind the bar, whistling merrily as he wiped a tumbler. (Apparently Oscar _had_ been nursing a hangover the day before: were it anything more serious, Jack would still be filling in for him at the store.) He gave the man a nod, and smiled as Jack beamed a greeting in return. He was filling a glass before Reim said anything. Noticing how it was from a pot of good, strong coffee, he decided not to decline. They brewed it strong here, to best suit Glen's tastes.

"What can I help you with, good sir?" Jack asked in his usual cheery way, eyes sparkling in the dim light.

Reim sipped his coffee. "You're smilin' awful bright this mornin'."

"Of course! I heard Regnard was back!" At this, his green eyes turned narrow and sharp, but if you didn't know the boy, you'd've never seen it. Jack was smarter than he led on to be, a trademark quality of the Belzarius family. All three of them were like that: Oscar, Jack, and Oz.

"He's not back at all, is he?" Jack asked.

Reim sighed. "No. But he looks just like him."

"This man...?"

"Break's what he calls himself."

"Break?" Jack's eyes blinked a bit, startled. "That's not a name from around here."

"No, and neither is he."

Jack laughed. "I see. I'll let Glen know, soon as he wakes up."

"How'd you know?" Reim asked with a small smile, finishing his coffee.

Jack winked. "Best way to stop a rumor is to shoot it dead."

Reim laughed. "Then I leave it to you, sir." He left a tip on the counter, knowing Jack wouldn't accept the whole fee, put his hat on his head, and with one last _thanks again_, he was out the door stepping into the sun.

...

The stranger minded his own. He didn't came to town for supplies, didn't harass anyone for money. He stayed out at Regnard's Ranch, quiet as could be.

The boys kept a good eye on him. The sheriff had asked for volunteers among the men of the town, and while he had received plenty of help, he had also ended up recruiting Eliot and Leo during the day when everyone else was busy going about their business. At least this way the boys were kept out of mischief. (They took right well after Ernest and Claude, sometimes. 'Cept these boys didn't need to get drunk before they caused a ruckus or got hurt. Like that one time they tried cow tippin'...Reim gave himself a headache just thinking about it.)

For the most part, the boys stayed out of trouble, having been given firm orders to go no nearer to the ranch than that watch-hill, and for the most part, they obeyed. (Unfortunately, there would come a time where they'd just up and refuse to listen...and Reim knew it was bound to happen sooner than later. Although he hadn't thought it would happen quite _this_ soon.)

Three days into their surveillance, Eliot declared himself officially bored. That was fine by Leo; his patience was stretching to the limit, having been made to listen to Eliot's sighs and complaints every twenty minutes about how nothing happened around here, how the sun was too damn hot today, and if that blur had been a rabbit instead of a squirrel he'd've seen if he could've caught it.

It was with much relief that Leo sat straight up, fingers flying toward the Ranch. "Look, Eliot! I see something!"

Eliot's head whipped around. He narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun and stared long and hard, assessing the lie of the land, monitoring every movement. He raised an eyebrow and turned toward his best friend. "I don' see nothin'," he said, blandly.

"Then you're an idiot," Leo grumped. "Look over _there_. Not by the house. Not even _you_ can miss it twice."

Eliot resisted the urge to start an argument, knowing he could always pick a fight with Leo later. Now, however, something was happening and he didn't want to miss it. "Is that...a calf?" he asked, incredulous. "I thought all the cattle had run! This place's been empty for years!"

"I thought so too," Leo said. "Suppose we should ride down and tell the Sheriff?"

"Suppose so," Eliot said, and with a grin he added, "I'll ride down, but _you_ do the tellin'."

"You aren't going down there without _me_," Leo replied. But Eliot wasn't in a mood to listen, having already started at a trot down the hill, making his way toward the ranch. Leo shook his head, following after, and in two minutes they had disappeared into the woods. They emerged on the other side, horses tethered and hidden much farther from the house than the place where the sheriff had left his own three nights before (the boys were smart; they learned right quick). Creeping around to the pasture took a lengthy amount of time, but with brows furrowed and clothing sweat-damp they made their way to the edge and peered inside the corral. What they saw almost caused a ruckus.

Eliot stood, rustling the trees and bushes which served as their hiding place, and was about to shout the words at the forefront of his brain, but Leo reached up with two hands and yanked hard on his belt; Eliot had no choice but to sit down in an indignant cross-legged heap.

"What?!" Eliot started, but the noise was muffled as one of Leo's hands clamped over his mouth and the other pushed his head down.

"_Shut up, you idiot!_" Leo hissed, pulling Eliot by the shirt collar, trying to stay low while moving behind a more solid defense than that afforded by mere leafy camouflage. If they had caught the stranger's attention, a bullet wouldn't hesitate a moment to rip through the greenery and possibly kill either of them for trespassing; the stranger could even say it was for 'stealing cattle'. Leo didn't allow Eliot to speak until they had scuttled away and back, turning their crawl into a run until they were hidden from sight by several hundred feet and more than a few good-sized trees.

"You...idiot!" Leo said again, keeping his voice low while he panted for breath. "What if he'd seen us?"

"So what?" Eliot retorted. "How...how the hell'd he get that many cows? He must've stole 'em!"

"_Stolen_, Eliot," Leo corrected absently before pushing himself upright. (Like most of the children, they'd received schooling influenced by the curriculum of the cities to the east. Eliot, from a high class family, had rebelled in his speech as soon as summer break started.) He was silent a moment, listening for any sound which would indicate they were being pursued.

Eliot chuckled. "Your ears ain't that good, Leo. I don' hear nothin'."

Leo shot his friend a dark look, but conceded. Eliot would know better than he. So Leo relaxed and looked around, judging the time by the position of the sun and the length of their tree-broken shadows. "We should get home," he said.

"You're still doin' the tellin' when we reach the Sheriff's place."

Leo scoffed. "Like hell. You're coming with me."

"Never said I wouldn't."

They trudged back to their horses as the late afternoon shone in a bright orange glow, darkening the world with elongated silhouettes. The boys left quietly, remaining alert and cautious, riding back to the hill and beyond before sundown. They were late, of course, and Reim could see from the bright smiles and scowls that they'd been up to something, so he pinched the bridge of his nose and cleaned his glasses before settling down to hear the story about the mysteriously appearing cattle, raising his eyebrows as Leo described Eliot's near outburst.

_Surely, surely he must've heard,_ he thought. _If he was Regnard, he would've known. He'd always known when somebody came to visit, no matter how quiet...Miss Shelly and I played that game for a long time and we never once won. Never once._

He glanced out the window, wondering if the boys had been inordinately lucky or if the man known as Xerxes Break had let them off. Had he let them see the cattle, let them spread the story? And if so...what was he trying to accomplish?

Reim had no answers.

And Break had no reason not to smile while he watched the children leave, having left a present in one of their saddlebags.

_..._


	4. Chapter 4

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

...

Sheriff Reim fiddled with the bright pink ribbon Eliot Nightray had brought along the next morning. He recognized it, of course, as one of those Kevin's daughter used to wear in her big blonde curls. The lace had been stitched by Miss Shelly before her own daughter took to wearing such things (a bit of a rebel, was the young Miss Sharon, refusin' to keep her ponytail tidy until she saw her mother givin' a gift to another little girl and got herself a might bit jealous), but Kevin had bought it for one of her birthdays. Reim knew; he'd been with the man as he stood outside the ribbon shop for nearly an hour, fussing over which one she might like best before Reim became impatient and told him her favorite color was _pink_. (_Yes, I know, _he'd said. _But she smiles like the sun. An' I think the yeller would look nice, but it'd blend in. So maybe blue? But her eyes aren't too pale like that, an' the green just ain't quite purdy enough._)

Reim sighed and leaned his wooden chair back on two legs while he propped his feet on his desk. He put the ribbon in his pocket and cleaned his glasses, wondering what he was going to do next. He wasn't certain if this was a clue, if the stranger knew what had happened to the little Miss and possibly even to her father. He didn't know if it was a taunt and the man named Break had done the murderous deed himself. He didn't know if it had simply been found somewheres in the ranch and stuffed into the boys' saddlebags so they could return it to the nice young lady missing her pretty pink ribbon, because Xerxes Break never went into town to do it himself.

Replacing his glasses on his nose, Reim sighed again and looked out the doorway, surprised to see someone there, waiting patiently. He quickly dropped his chair to the ground and sat up straighter, beckoning little Oz inside.

"What can I do for you, good sir?" Reim asked after Oz had climbed atop a nearby chair. His short little legs swung lightly and his eyes blazed that curious green they all had.

"The mayor wanted me to pass on a message," he replied, voice child-light, but with those heavy tones he'd already adopted from Jack. (Or maybe Jack had adopted from him? Oz had always been the more somber of the two.)

"Oh?" Reim asked, curious. "What's he wanting so early in the mornin'?"

"He wants you to go out there. To the Regnard Ranch."

Reim frowned. "Already been out there. The man didn't much like havin' me around."

"That's true," Oz smiled, tilting his face to the side and sliding his eyes closed. "But he says you received an invitation this time."

_Oh, for cryin' out loud,_ Reim thought. "Guess I should be gettin' a move on, then."

"Probably."

"What else?" Reim asked, stuffing his hat over Oz's blonde head. The boy used both hands to push it back up, his mischievous eyes glittering like Jack's did when he was excited.

"Glen's killed the rumors. He threatened to triple the price of whiskey if he heard any more gossip. It quieted the saloon right quick."

"I suppose it would." Reim smiled. "I suppose it would."

...

The journey was just as long as usual. The midday sun hid behind thick clouds, but still Reim sweltered beneath his vest. Wiping sweat from his brow as he paused atop the hill between the town and Xerxes Break, Reim turned his attention toward the pastures. Sure as rain, he could see a healthy herd lowing in the distance. Not as big as Regnard's had been, but there was still plenty to make the sheriff raise an eyebrow. How'd all those cows get in without anybody noticing? It wasn't exactly a quiet task, moving that many animals from one place to another.

Reim sighed and spurred his horse forward, but something knocked him clean from his saddle.

"What in tarnation!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet from a disoriented sprawl.

An obnoxious laugh greeted him. "So it _is_ you, Mr. Sheriff!"

"You - you pulled me off my horse!"

"Certainly," Xerxes chuckled behind an oversized sleeve. "I don't appreciate spies."

Reim straightened his hat. "I'm not a spy."

"Ah. Then it's normal behavior for several different men to have chosen this exact spot to take a nap, evading work in rotating shifts? Why, and I thought it was a coincidence they all faced my ranch! People _are_ rather peculiar out here."

Reim ignored the gibe. "How'd you get your cattle?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Some look mighty familiar."

Every trace of comicality fell from Break's face in a near-audible shatter. Behind the mask was a flat-dead eye and a tilted gaze, and for some reason it made Reim think he was facing a man more deadly than Cutthroat Nightray. (Vincent, they used to call him, before he went rogue, decapitating more than eleven people over a course of four days and abducting three more. He even went so far as to poison his own brother for reasons still unclear.) Sweat rolled down Reim's back and he hated himself for almost trembling.

But as soon as it had happened, it disappeared. Break's face was glowing with mischievous mirth, grin wide and flippant, and his voice as grating and obnoxious as Reim had ever heard it. "Those spectacles must be something else!" he crowed. "To distinguish individual cows from this distance! Why, that must be a handy trick when the young ladies decide to swim in yonder river!"

Reim felt his cheeks flush. "I just meant that they seemed-"

"I know what you meant, Mr. Sheriff. You meant to imply I acquired them illegitimately." Xerxes waggled a finger in front of his face, and Reim had no idea how to recover control of this situation. "I didn't, Mr. Sheriff. I assure you. Check the branding if you wish. I've been told Regnard used a fancy 'R'. Mine are more like...this." He dropped to the ground and drew a frightening face in the dirt. Two vacant eyes rested atop a freakishly large grin. The hair had been pulled vertically straight. A large bow rested beneath the chin. "I call her Emily."

Reim could only blink. At least it was distinctive.

Xerxes swished his hands together, knocking the dirt from his fingers. "Well, now that _that's_ finally settled, I'll leave you to your business, Mr. Sheriff." He mock-bowed and adjusted his hat, leaving Reim atop the hill as he whistled off toward the Ranch.

Reim didn't know what to do. He wouldn't have been sent out here if the mayor hadn't been certain those cattle _weren't_ Break's. But what else could he do? It'd be easy to tell if a new branding had been placed atop an older one: the lines would overlap. That, and the marks...the marks...

He stared at the doodle, incredulous. Kevin's R was still there, incorporated into Emily's bow, mirrored by its reverse...

v

oo

ᗊ

ᖆᖇ

"XERXES BREAK!" He cried. "YOU'LL HANG FOR THIS!"

Laughter floated back at him in response. Whirling around, Reim made ready to mount his horse and fly after the crook, but after a momentary stumble he realized he was quite alone.

"Where's my horse?" Reim asked, blinking in surprise. But after another sweep of the hill he looked down, and there at the bottom, much further than Reim would have thought possible in such a short time, he found his answer. His chestnut steed had already departed, reigns held securely in the hands of a clown. "Give him back!" Reim hollered.

"I need to borrow him for a while," Break shouted back from over his shoulder. "Seems I ran out of glue." It took Reim a few moments to process the statement, but it did and he swore, shoving his hat down low. He began the long walk back to the outskirts of town, kicking up clouds of dust on his way. It proved to be a fine way to pass the time until he caught his boot in a prairie dog's hole, at which point he caught himself before a fall and sighed, grateful that at least nobody had seen him flailing his arms like an idiot.

No one, that is, except for his horse, which had caught up to him ahead of the rainstorm.

...

Xerxes Break sat alone before his fireplace, polishing an old ivory revolver. He had already wrangled half of Regnard's herd, and had plans to gather the rest over the course of the following week. After humiliating the Sheriff, he was certain he'd be left alone for at least that much time. They could talk things over after his business was finished and Regnard's score was settled. But until Break possessed every last head of missing cattle, he'd be slippery as hell to catch and twice as annoying.

Those two outlaw bandits should have noticed by now that their bovines were vanishing. He'd been at it for a while, slow, methodical, and patient. But now he was being pestered by the town's sheriff (probably under suspicion of the mayor, too, but that idiot-hair didn't frighten him any) and that hadn't entirely been in his plans. So instead of biding his time he'd just up and move the rest all at once, hoping those morons were smart enough to follow his trail (and it'd be a big one, too, just to make sure they didn't miss him) while those other fools stayed where they were, minding their own business by keeping out of his.

He snapped the revolver together and twirled the cylinder. He lined up the first chamber (only two were filled: one for each of them, Regnard and the Little Miss) and set it aside. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, but who could say? Regnard hadn't managed to take them down, and if he were to be completely honest, Regnard was the better fighter. He had had something precious to protect, after all. Break just had himself.

He grinned. The revolver sparkled in the dying light, and a child's voice sang like a memory from the fireplace, laughing, always laughing. He laughed, too.

...


	5. Chapter 5

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

...

_Twelve years prior_

Cheshire "Cat" Wilson rode his horse to the crest of the bluff and looked out as far as his eye could see. (And it was singular, his eye. He'd lost the other in a bar fight years ago.) He watched quietly while birds flew high above, and he heard the gentle lowing of a rancher's keep some few miles distant. He tasted money on the wind, riches and fame and glory. He knew it would be his shortly: his partner never let him down.

His partner, Alyss "The Willful" (He didn't exactly know her last name, but it was city-sounding. Like Inten-shun or something) was a beautiful young lady, shrewd and cold and sly. A dangerous combination, but they made a hell of a good team, with her leading and him following. She was a rebel, through and through: the law didn't like her and she didn't like it. So she made a profit the best way she knew how, and was still healthy as a horse outrunning those fat-bottomed idiots with their pinned on stars, ridiculous ten-gallon hats, and pompous attitudes.

Alyss brought her horse close and pointed to a smudge in the distance. Cheshire couldn't see it clearly, thanks to his missing eye, but he had unnaturally good hearing. It sounded like a dwelling to him: lots of pointless racket. That was to be their next hit, and it looked like a good one to him. This family was _rich._

They took off in their usual manner, disguising themselves as helpless riders caught in the gorge without water, having discovered a torn water skin in their reserves. (Would it be any trouble to use that there well and mayhaps fill 'er up? Aw, shucks, you folks are mighty kind. _Thank you_.) And as Cheshire spoke with the men, Alyss would make her way into the kitchen with the women (chatting about how cute that bonnet was and goodness, was that the latest style of city dress? Gorgeous! Why, I'd love to own one myself, one day, if only my dumb brother would find himself a decent bit of work!), making themselves friendly as could be. Inevitably, the head of the household would take pity on such young travelers and offer them up a job. Alyss as a helping hand in the house (sewing, cooking, watching the young'uns - she was good with kids. Liked to play Dolly with them) while he went out to help around the ranch. It was tough work, and required the strength of several men, but so long as he proved he had an able body and a willing spirit, most let him right in on the fun.

This time was no different.

The Sinclairs were a generous family, and took them on faster than most. They asked less questions, too. Alyss was immediately recruited as a babysitter, seeing how they had themselves an infant and, while she wasn't much trouble, the Missus liked to hand her off in favor of baking pastries. It was hard keeping track of a baby in the kitchen, she said, and the other ladies would enjoy a chance to catch up on their chores. Cheshire, meanwhile, had made fast friends with the younger lads, impressing them with his trick shooting and expertise with the horses. They couldn't have asked for anything better. So, with careful diligence, they did their jobs as best they could, quickly gaining favor with the Sinclairs and making friends with everyone on the premises. They kept the act for a year, easily skirting the officials by remaining quiet and far out of sight.

When the time came, though, they were quick about it. There would be no survivors. Faster than lightning Cheshire offed the menfolk while Alyss took care of the maids. The last to go would be the Sinclairs. As soon as they came back from delivering pies to the neighbors and walked into their quiet house spilled red, Cheshire shot them dead. Alyss grabbed the baby.

Cheshire kept with the Sinclair's normal routine and took the cattle to auction in Thenexttownover a few hours later. He sold all he could, but on his way back he overheard the Sheriff talking to the Banker. Neither had seen the Sinclairs at the auction, and maybe one of them should go check things out. Banker was missing those pastries, don't you know.

Alarmed, Cheshire raced back to the estate to collect Alyss. Their original plan would have been to let the authorities know of the murder, and profess undying loyalty to the protection of the little Miss. That way they'd be able to embezzle her inheritance, sell off the rest of the cattle, and keep the cash. They'd discard the girl later, of course, but the plan fell to ribbons when Cheshire saw the Wanted posters hanging outside the saloon. They'd have to switch to Plan B.

As he was traveling along the nearly deserted road back toward the Sinclair homestead, he was stopped by a youngster (a passerby, really, wanting to start a ranch of his own, curious about the cattle). Cheshire, gratefully accepting a chance to offload the rest of his slow-moving baggage, sold the bulls on the spot.

Alyss saw the solitary horse racing toward the estate, and she moved without question, gathering their already packed bags (dishonest people are quick to move; these two probably being the quickest) and saddling her own horse. By the time Cheshire arrived, she'd prepared a fresh mount for him and they were on their way, setting fire to the dwelling as a last goodbye.

...

Kevin Regnard couldn't believe his luck. As the eldest son of a cooper, he had been trained to follow in his father's footsteps. But making barrels for the rest of his life seemed a sad fate for one who loved the outdoors. He wanted to work hard, own his own ranch, herd cattle or horses or sheep or...anything! It didn't matter, so long as it was _out there_ and away from the sooty, stuffy, grimy shop that was _here_.

He left as soon as he was able, hiring himself out as a bodyguard (he'd learned to fight when he was small. His unnaturally colored hair and eyes gathered the wrong sorts of attention), as a helping hand, as a bit of extra muscle on other people's farms. It was a hard life, but a satisfying one. He had most recently picked up some cash after wrestling in some no-good-dirty-rotten-wangling-rascals, as the landlord had said, and once they were handed over to the proper authorities, the man had split the reward right down the middle. Half for him, half for Regnard.

And wouldn't you know it - he stumbled across a man in a hurry, willing to part with his excess cattle. To a young, naive creature such as he, it was a rain of sweetest blessing. He never thought the transaction to be dishonest, and fortunately for him, the animals weren't even branded. So long as he kept careful track of the crumpled legalities tucked beneath the brim of his hat, he'd have proof enough to start his own ranch.

Only problem was, he didn't have a place to hold them in the meantime.

...

He was wandering through the canyon when he saw the smoke. Alarmed, Kevin left his herd by a stream and ran his horse as fast as she would go. He reigned in on a maelstrom of disaster. Sheriff Yura had beat him to the scene, wailing directions to a handful of other people; bloody bodies littered the premises like puddles of macabre confetti; the barn collapsed beneath great, leaping flames, and the house was beginning to sag as well. He could hear the wailing of an infant, but the acoustics of the canyon made it difficult to tell where she was. Kevin wasted no time, running on instinct. Dousing himself with a bucket of water left by the well, he sprinted into the mansion, dodging beams and shards of exploded glass.

The heat was unbearable. It forced him to tuck his head low, slowing his frantic pace to a methodical plunge. But he pressed onwards, because he could see a white bundle trapped beneath a table. Reaching forward, he struggled with all his might to free the blankets. Out rolled a tiny body. Kevin grabbed the infant, glancing at her before blinking at the structure's interior. The beams were going to give and the girl in his arms wasn't breathing.

Deal with it later.

His shoes couldn't hold against the heat, and the hem of his jacket was already smoldering. He put as much concentration as he could into making this last sprint a damn good one, and flew towards the door, his jacket and walls igniting behind him. He heard the house disgorge several burning beams. His heart nearly died in his chest, but the trembling frame held long enough for him to leap through the doorway, embers chewing through his ponytail. He rolled and threw the baby into the horses' watering trough, jumped in after, and hurriedly peeled off his shoes. (The melted tar had made quite a mess between his toes, but that was a detail he would joke about later, many years after the fact. He also liked to tell the one where he almost drowned his baby girl while trying to save her. The mayor hated that one.)

He was aware of the Sheriff shrieking obscenities at him, but he was in a hurry and could only holler back, _Please_ _be a little less useless! _A fellow grabbed the girl from him and got her breathing, and Kevin nearly drowned himself as his heavy, waterlogged traveling cloak threatened to pull his distracted head back under.

...

After he healed up some, Kevin decided he had had enough of the adventuring life, and set out to find his temporarily abandoned herd. The smoke had scared his cows out of the gorge, but their tracks were easy enough for him to follow. Rounding the errant beasts up, he decided to ask if he could build a ranch nearby. Sheriff Yura of Thenexttownover didn't trust the stranger and refused, but Sheriff Joe Lunettes of Nowheresville offered to find space for him. After all, Kevin _was_ their cooper's son, and he had a mighty fine reputation. (The young hero was also his own son's best friend.)

Before leaving for his new home, however, Kevin couldn't help but ask about the fate of the little girl. Upon discovering she had no one willing to take her in and was therefore to be sent to an orphanage in the city, he requested permission to become her legal guardian. Mayor Barma thought the added responsibility of raising a child would be good for young Mr. Kevin - keep him out of trouble; establish some good, solid roots - while also keeping him away from his own daughter, Shelly, due to be married to a wealthy city-slicker's son in a few short weeks. Yes, Barma thought, Kevin certainly needed a distraction before he caused any more trouble.

So it was that Kevin ended up with a bit of an adventure, his very own ranch, a small herd of cattle, and a tiny, wailing daughter, just because he was a lucky sort of fellow.

The only thing he didn't get was the woman he fancied, but he was a bit too distracted with the challenge of teaching himself how to wrestle an infant into clean diapers to notice until well after the wedding.

...


	6. Chapter 6

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

...

Alyss reigned her horse sharply left, causing Cheshire to run straight past. "What?" he shouted, struggling to bring his beast around.

"We're here," Alyss smiled; Cheshire felt himself frown. He recognized the squat little homestead in the valley below.

"Isn't this...?" he began, but saw in her eyes that it was, even before she answered.

"Yes. The place where that pathetic coward hid the Sinclair heiress."

Cheshire looked back the way they had come, thinking of their disappearing cattle and the audacity it required to steal from the two of _them_. Regnard, gentle though he was, just might have that sort of vengeful streak hidden somewhere deep inside...

"Not to mention her _fortune_."

"Do you think...he's back?" Cheshire whispered, unconvinced, but doubting all the same. He _had_ murdered the bastard. Stabbed him in the chest after both their pistols ran out of shots and none had hit, ran him through his frantic-beating heart. Reloaded and sent a slug through one wide, worried eye; stopped those rattling gasps. Filled his coat pockets with rocks. Tossed the corpse in the lake which fed the local river. A long way to carry a dead guy, it was true, but well worth the trouble to watch the bastard sink. It was what he deserved, stealing the prize they had worked so hard to plunder. Taking from them what amounted to almost a lifetime's worth of stampeding gold.

(_Alyss hadn't expected to meet the little girl inside, but felt no remorse when her gun ripped red through bouncy blonde curls. Especially since the wicked thing had searched for a white-tipped poker left too long in the fire. Alyss ran through the house, looking for others, saw none, spat on the pretty, frill-coated body, and took the animals while Cheshire finished his business with Regnard - poor, pitiful swine that he was._)

Alyss snorted disdainfully. "How could he be?"

Cheshire lowered his head, but not his eyes. They remained critical, scrutinizing the ranch. He saw a flicker in an upstairs window, noticed swaying curtains. Someone was in there. A lantern lit; a beacon to bring them in.

"Let's go," Alyss commanded, urging her horse forward.

Cheshire said nothing, but spurred his horse and set his gaze on the house that gazed back.

...

No gunshots erupted from the tired ranch. Alyss rode boldly; Cheshire warily. He could still see, in his mind's eye, that day twelve years ago. It was eerie retracing his steps...once again they were on a manhunt, after the same livestock, approaching the same property from the same direction in the same manner with the same intent. Alyss appeared undaunted by the sense of déjà vu: Riding straight up the stairs, she barricaded the door with the broadside of her horse, dismounted, and slid along the wall until she was directly beneath the window with the flickering lamp. Cheshire continued grimly toward the back.

A curtain fluttered. Cheshire whipped his gun around.

He froze.

Staring at a red-eyed ghost.

...

Alyss blasted lead into the side of the house. Her third shot shattered glass and the lantern behind; quick kerosene flames swallowed white curtains. Satisfied, she ran to the side, discovered another lantern, and repeated her performance with two shots instead of three. Taking a moment to reload, she scurried toward the back and found Cheshire, face inhumanly pale, clutching reins with a death grip, doing absolutely nothing except _sitting_.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

His eye remained wide.

Growling, Alyss glanced around, pausing when she saw the face in the window.

"Pard'n us, missus. We was just havin' ourselves a little chat," Break said, over-exaggerating the local drawl.

"Regnard," she breathed. "How in _blazing_ _hells_ did you survive?"

"It's a trick," Cheshire murmured. "It has to be. It..._has to be._"

"Knock it off," Alyss spat. "That bastard's dead." To Break, she said, "Who are you?"

"My, my, what a mouth, little miss."

Her retort raised eyebrows. Smoke issued from her barrel; blood ran from his body.

"_Kevin...do you really want to die?"_

She stumbled backwards; he remained upright. His arm, left sleeve drenched in spattered blood drops, rose to test the wound, fingering gently the area of his heart, shot at point-blank range. He could feel the muscles of his chest contract, clench, and let go. Blood soaked. His body was warm.

_It was a surreal experience, watching through hazy eyes as the blade in his chest pulsed ever so slowly, rhythmically, with every staggered breath he drew. The air grew heavy around him, his tired eyes had difficulty focusing. He blearily saw Cheshire - the man who robbed Miss Sinclair of her parents - reach to the ground. Watched him reload. Felt the footsteps before he saw the shadow._

"_No, Ma'am. I don't." He fought to stay awake._

_She smiled, a terrible, sultry smile. "Let me ask you why."_

Terrified, Cheshire reached for Alyss and pulled her behind him, shielding her from the demon before them. The demon with the laughing red eye, the demon who absolutely refused to die.

"_I h-have to protect...my daughter..."_

"_Yes."_

_The shadow was dark and terrible. There was nothing more Kevin could do to save his little girl; nothing more he could do. But he could pity this wretched soul...the one damning itself for eternity, refusing repentance, bathing repeatedly in cold blood. All for greed. Such a useless endeavor._

"You realize, I do hope, that I'm not Kevin Regnard," Break said slowly, distractedly, smearing blood from his thumb to the tips of his first two fingers and back again.

"Who are you?" Alyss repeated in a strained whisper. Cheshire internally corrected the question to include the word What.

The man in white smiled. Fresh red ran from his lips, down his chin. Cheshire saw in the briefest glimpse of a moment, in just that one second where the shifting breeze lifted the hair from the left side of the man's face, that he only had one eye.

"_There is a price."_

_Kevin's hopes died. "My soul?" he murmured, knowing it was one he could never agree to pay._

"_No," she laughed. "Nothing like that. I require nothing from you."_

_The gun leveled with his head, and the eternal depths of his grave could not have been any darker than what he saw there, staring into that barrel, knowing the weapon was his own. No amount of time could have passed more slowly, and no dying breath could have taken so much effort to acquire._

_Still, he pitied the broken man behind the trigger._

"You lie," Cheshire choked. "You're him. You're _him_."

Break shifted his gaze. His eyebrows lifted. Alyss pushed Cheshire aside and sent another bullet into the side of the house, errant shot wild and high.

"_There is simply the price of transformation - a result of the process, if you'd rather think of it that way."_

_It was but one moment that Cheshire's face contorted in rage. He recognized the pity in his victim's face, pity when there should have been fear. He couldn't understand it: all his life he'd been feared. He redirected his aim to Kevin's eye._

"_What price?"_

"_You will never be the same. You can never again be mortal."_

"_I'll be a...a god?"_

"_No," she smiled. "You will be like me."_

_He knew what she meant, even before she explained. He would be one who lived among men but didn't belong. He would watch and wait, no longer participating. Something would be different. Something would change. His transformation, by its very nature, would be irreconcilable to the ways of the world._

_It was a hefty price. He might never again see Miss Shelly._

"_And my daughter?" he had to ask. It was a plea._

"_She will remain with you."_

_The shot thundered. Echoes crashed. Leaves fell. Dust plumed. Cheshire grimaced; Kevin's eye exploded. The knife between dying ribs shuddered and lay still._

_Cheshire drew a breath. Steeling his resolve, he ignored the gore and reclaimed his knife. Throwing the mutilated corpse over his horse, he rode off. Filled its pockets with rocks. Threw it in a lake. Watched it drown. Shot at it from the surface. Missed. All four times._

Break removed the pistol from his holster and laid it level with Cheshire. The outlaw paled, hunched down, and promptly lost the contents of his stomach. There was no doubt he recognized that ivory gun.

"Cheshire!" Alyss screamed, bending beside him. But she couldn't know. She hadn't been there.

When Cheshire was finished, Break patiently explained, "I have two shots."

"One for me and one for her," Cheshire groaned.

"Yes," Break agreed. "One for _me_ and one for _her_." The subtlety was lost on his audience, but it didn't matter. He readied his first: the one for Miss Sinclair.

Cheshire bowed his head in defeat. Alyss took off in a run.

The first shot.

_For Miss Sinclair._

_And the second for himself._

Break closed his eye and breathed deeply. His gun smoked. Cheshire and Alyss lay outstretched on the ground. No one moved. Not even Break.

After screaming echoes died, he hopped over the sill. It would take each of them a moment to assess the damage to their bodies, discover no wounds, and realize the shots had been blank. Break went for Alyss first, securing her with thick bonds of rope. Cheshire, he believed, wouldn't be going anywhere soon, so his bonds were less restrictive, designed more for psychology's sake than physical restraint.

He heard the snort of a horse. Break turned. He had to change his clothing - there was nothing here he wanted to explain to the local authorities.

But the Sheriff wasn't the one facing him. It was _her - _his guardian, his savior from those days long ago.

He smiled and climbed back inside to change.

...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: And here we are, the final chapter. THANK YOU ALL for reading; you guys are awesome! Special shout-outs to devilberry, Dreamer of Legends, and Atomic Lilith. You three are a constant source of support and encouragement, no matter what endeavors I undertake.

...

Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

...

Sheriff Reim arrived a scant minute later, followed by a group of worried men and sweating horses; they'd ridden hard, rushing at the first signs of smoke. Reim observed the burning structure with narrowed eyes and delegated its containment to Oscar - he had to make sure there was no one left inside.

His shouts had no response, but neither could Reim see Break outside the growing conflagration. His horse was unnerved, eyes white and rolling, so Reim dismounted and let the animal bolt. Windows exploded. Part of the roof caved. There was no time to lose. He threw his glasses into the grass, ran in, and ran low.

Reim staggered against the sudden resistance of heat and smoke. He crawled, carefully following the baseboards, breathing shallowly into his bandana. He was mindful of falling debris, of shattered glass. But after a moment, Reim found what he was searching for: a motionless lump of white and purple. He crawled over and reached out a hand, hoping to shake a state of consciousness into Break to make their escape easier. But as his hand laid on Break's shoulder, his face turned over and grinned. Reim screamed and choked and backed quickly away.

Laughing, and seemingly unbothered by the flames, Break pointed toward the doorway. Embers swirled through the air, threatening to ignite the both of them even before they roasted alive in the dry heat. Stretching his arms high above his head, Break simply rolled across the floor to outside freedom like a child down a grassy hill. Bewildered, Reim hurried after, although he pointedly chose to _crawl_ his way out.

Break was waiting for him, already doused and sopping wet, thanks to the efforts of Jack and Glen to put out anything smoldering. Grinning widely from his puddle of smoke and wet, Reim feared the heat had damaged Break's brain. Even more so when he started laughing at the state of the crumbling ranch.

"You..." Reim started, livid, ready to lay into the idiot for taking a gosh-darned _nap_ amid a house full of _flames. _What kind of man pulled pranks like that? He could have _died_, waiting for someone to come inside!

But Break beat him to the punch, suddenly appearing within inches of Reim's face before he had even figured out where to start. That blank eye was uncomfortably close. "It's a very bad idea to rush into a burning building like that, Mr. Sheriff," Break said, placing Reim's glasses on his nose - and then he was gone, Reim stumbling back in surprise. He opened his mouth to retort, but was promptly doused with water, and ended up spluttering instead. Nobody quite understood what was happening, so the rest remained in silence. Jack and Glen shrugged. Oscar lit a cigarette.

Chuckling, Break hopped around the muttering Sheriff, letting his purple-white and soggy riding boots squelch their way toward Cheryl Barma. Bowing low, he kissed her hand and grinned against it when the Sheriff and his fellow volunteers scrambled over themselves once they realized the Mayor's wife was on the scene and in potential danger from the burning embers. (The firefight commenced with renewed fervor; these men were serious about ensuring her safety.) Satisfied the commotion would keep attention away from Break, he gave one last smile to the lady and snuck away, securing the reins of Reim's horse to the bonds of captured outlaws before disappearing into the woods. He'd emerge later, once the fuss was over, but for now he had someone else to fetch.

_..._

Sheriff Reim watched as Cheshire stood quietly and Alyss flew through fits of rage and defiance. Their judgement was pronounced this very morn; the whole town had gathered to see. To see the killers of the Regnard family brought to justice. To see them hang.

Justice William West declared them guilty by sunrise. It came as no surprise. Though their capture was meant to be kept secret, such pronouncements were slipperier than a greased pig and the whole of Thenexttownover had joined Nowheresville to watch. Two towns for two traitors.

Which made this developing situation all the more awkward.

The crowd murmured at the figure on the scaffold, leaning casually on his walking stick, white hair shockingly bright against a dawning-red sky. "I said: Let them go."

The sheriff was stunned. "But you're the one who tied 'em to my horse!"

"Yes," Break replied calmly. "To spend the rest of their miserable lives in prison."

"After what they'd done?" Reim couldn't believe what he was hearing. The laws of the land had dictated their punishment: The outlaws were given due process - a fair trial, jury by peers - and there was nothing more to be done except take action upon the verdict!

"I will not be held accountable for their murder."

"It ain't murder," Oscar spoke from the crowd. "It's justice!" A hearty cheer arose in conjunction with his statement, followed by bellows of "Hang 'em" and "Hang 'em high!"

Break looked over the anxiously awaiting crowd and sighed. He _really_ didn't want to cut the two loose and force his way out of the inevitably ensuing riot. Searching for another way, his eyes met Lady Cheryl's. Smiling contently from her place in the crowd below, he knew he wouldn't have to. There was one last card to play.

_Hers._

Break heard the footsteps and immediately moved aside as a young woman stepped forward. The pink ribbon adorning her head was the same as it ever was, bright against voluminous blonde curls. Her hands were clasped before her body, held like a proper gentlelady, her posture straight and head held high.

The crowd fell silent. Standing before them was the very girl whose life had been cut short seven years ago by two outlaws standing no less than two feet away. The ghost of Miss Miley Sinclair.

"Release them," she said, voice soft but clear. "Release them from this judgement; they have committed no murder."

The crowd exploded. _Of course they had! The entire Sinclair family, for one, and this girl, for another! Not to mention everything they'd done before or since, including the high crime of rustling cattle! _But the ruckus was getting out of hand and the Lady Cheryl had heard quite enough. Two shots fired into the air, and all fell silent in respect for the mayor and his wife. They had yet to weigh their opinions.

"This is an unprecedented request," Barma mused. "For the guilt rests heavily upon their shoulders."

"I only ask their sentence be amended," the girl replied. "From public execution to a life of no freedom. A city prison if it must be, but I do not wish to watch them die for their crimes."

"Then cover yer eyes!" Someone hollered. There were various hoots and whistles of approval.

The mayor eyed the expanse of the crowd. A lynching was certain to follow if he granted the lady's request, but to deny it would lead to the possible lynching of both herself and the stranger named Break for obstructing justice. Either way, blood would be spilt, but if the crowd were uncontrollable...he'd rather spare the innocent.

He watched Reim and Yura, both on alert, watching and waiting. Two sheriffs would not be enough to cover the extent of the damage wrought by an angry mob of this size. Glen was disinclined to watch the proceedings from the start, so without his shadowy presence there was no one the mob would even _fear_. Thinking hard about the dilemma, the mayor felt his wife place her hand on his arm; he knew then that their answers were one and the same. He sighed. He'd never hear the end of it if he didn't speak, now that she had made known her will. "Agreed."

There was a moment of complete silence. Break was already leading Cheshire and Alyss to the barred carriage that had brought them to their deaths, already preparing a way for escape. He vaulted atop the vehicle and flicked the reins, spurring his team of horses into action.

The ghostly Miss was nowhere in sight.

Sheriffs Reim and Yura had their hands full with the sudden surge.

...

In the end, Glen tired of his inability to sleep past the uproar and appeared in the thick of things, brothers and sisters obediently flanking the crowd in bright cloaks of red, hunting hounds cornering the worst of the riffraff. Somehow, and Reim wasn't certain _what exactly _it was that he did, Glen managed to take charge of the situation and quell the disturbance before anything other than the jailhouse's annex burned to the ground. The fire contained, the Baskervilles broke up the remaining brawls and sent the rest of the mob skittering away because Glen was furious and nobody wanted to push the situation any further.

(The saloon remained closed that night - both towns cowered in respectful silence.)

...

Break's Ranch was built after the remains of Regnard's were cleared away. His herd was a peaceable bunch, quiet and content, and Reim had his suspicions the older individuals recognized their new home pasture as one they had seen before - if ever the beasts could be smart enough to notice such things. But he wouldn't say anything, because Break was a habitual nuisance and by mayoral grant he now owned the entire herd, anyway - even those young and unbranded which The Will and Cheshire acquired from subsequent raids elsewhere.

Miss Emily - Reim learned quickly that she was _not_ the sweet Miss Miley after all - and Miss Sharon made fast friends, while Reim grew to tolerate Break. They weren't exactly chummy, them two, but the curiousness of the strangers brought the sheriff out to visit the Ranch a time or two each week, just to chat and make certain everything was rolling along smoothly. (And also so he could keep a steady eye on Break's whereabouts, but that one needed no remarkin'. They all knew.)

Break and Emily remained secretive about their past - what they were up to before moving here, where they'd come from, how they knew about the Ranch, how Miss Emily'd gotten up there on that scaffold without anybody glancin' her beforehand, how Miss Emily'd gotten to town _at all_ - so when questions arose they were deflected in any manner of ways, usually with some sort of absurdity leaving Reim to squeak lenses and nurse migraines. He had thought dealing with Break _alone_ was bad...but now there were _two, _and he couldn't believe how well obnoxiousness multiplied itself in exponential terms.

It was on one such occasion, while accompanying the two Reinsworth ladies on one of their frequent visits, that Reim felt the need to stop and wonder. From the reflection in a window he caught the knowing glances which passed between father and daughter in one of those rare moments of peace before one or the other exploded into a loud bout of clownishness. He saw then how smoothly one covered for the other, each acting like two parts of a well-oiled machine when cornered. That led to questions: Had Kevin Regnard and Miley Sinclair really died? Or had it all been an elaborate hoax? Shaking his head, he found it difficult to chase away the idea that perhaps the two of them had transformed into something extraordinary and somewhat paranormal...no matter how difficult that was to explain. Superstitions could become flesh-and-blood reality awful quick, sometimes, way out here in the middle of nowhere.

He rubbed his eyes. Ignoring twin grins, the sheriff resigned himself to the possibility that he would never fully discover the truth. It was too heavily guarded. Pouring himself a second glass of iced lemonade, he gave up trying to untangle the untangleable and sat back on the porch to relax. At least the town had settled down and returned to a relative state of normalcy; he was more than happy with the quiet.

Promptly, Reim's eyes bugged and he spit his drink halfway across the yard.

Xerxes Break was down on one knee, proposing to the widowed Lady Shelly.

With a loud groan, Reim hung his head in both hands. It looked like he'd have to prepare a homicide investigation all over again...there was definitely going to be another dead body out here when the Mayor caught wind of _this_.

...


End file.
